Loneliness and Denial
by WretchedEscapist
Summary: Jack is afraid of Pitch, or is that what he is feeling? Takes place a few years after the Guardians defeated Pitch, Jack goes to see him and ask him why he is sending him strange nightmares… Slowly building, consensual, not for those with short attention spans. Currently on HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

Things were almost always calm in towns like this. It was small and secluded, far from bigger civilizations and the troubles which larger populations often brought. Jack came across places like these on occasion, sometimes they would turn out to be filled with opportunities. But more often they would turn out to be filled with dreary old adults with not a trace of any sense of humor. He _did _manage to have fun occasionally, even if it meant savoring the simple things. Simple things like watching a clueless pedestrian stagger around wondering where the snowball that just struck them in the dome came from.

At night, though, there was literally nothing to be done. Except maybe count stars. Jack was never really fond of sleeping even though he technically could, he was always afraid he'd miss out on something if he did. Right now though, hanging out in someone's spare room and lounging on its spacious bed which was covered in a generous amount of blankets and pillows, he was beginning to reconsider.

For a long time he just laid there quietly on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling and the vacant light affixed. His staff was lying beside him, taking up an entire side of the bed with even a pillow all to itself.

What else was there to do, anyway? He'd been through the same routine many times before, towns like this simply didn't _have_ the level of excitement he required on a daily basis. If anything, sleeping was a reasonable way to pass the time.

His mind made up, he turned onto his side and pulled a spare pillow down to cuddle with. Hugging it tightly, he nuzzled his face into it, the fluffy down feathers giving just enough resistance to provide the perfect snuggle partner; it was obvious these people never had many guests stay the night.

He relaxed with a soft little sigh. Although he had only slept a handful of times in all the hundreds of years he existed, that pleasant tired feeling was never hard to recapture.

Peaceful darkness gripped him, and for a while, the dreams gifted to him were good; they were normal.

Until he started to fall. Normally this would signal it was time to wake up, but not now. Something was different. He lacked the fear and desperation one would normally feel during a 'falling dream', in fact, he felt no fear at all as he fell, deeper and deeper into a dark black pit.

There was only a strange determination in his mind, a deep sort of alien desire. He landed lightly upon warm dark stone. This place was familiar. The cavern which stretched out before him, spiked cages strung up on the ceiling by thick black chains. No, he could never forget this place.

He walked toward the cages, staring up at them, at first believing that's what his destination was simply because memory dictated. Behind the bars of those which once held Tooth's little hummingbirds, he saw shadows fluttering crazily within. They looked like gigantic moths with bat wings, crazily circling each other in a dizzying sort of chaos.

Slowly he turned, heading down a narrow staircase instead. The place held no realistic layout considering he'd only traversed it a limited amount of times, but he turned and entered the first doorway which presented itself only to walk into yet another room he was familiar with.

The same dark stone which made up the whole cavernous lair stretched out before him and dropped off at either sides into nothingness. A huge three-dimensional map of the world stood as a centerpiece, looking as if it, too, had been carved from the stone. Brightly glowing dots adorned the surfaces of the continents like city lights at night. After taking a few steps inside, he stopped when he came to the realization that the sharp, narrow shadow which resided near the edge of the walkway was not, in fact, just a shadow.

Bright yellow eyes pierced the darkness, locking on to him in a stare intense enough to make him pause mid-step. There were no words spoken, Pitch simply attacked. He came at him in a wave of malevolent shadows which struck Jack before he could even think to stop it; not that he felt the need to for some strange reason.

There was no fear or anger in these moments as they fell together. Enveloped in utter darkness, Jack could not see the Boogeyman but he could feel him. He grabbed onto his robe, clutching at his sides; he wanted nothing more than to be closer. Pressed harder against him.

The desire made no sense, but neither did anything else.

"I don't want to fight," Jack whispered in his ear.

Suddenly they were stationary, presumably at the floor of the cave due to the high ceiling riddled with massive stalactites high above them. Pitch was on top of him, staring down at him with marked confusion.

"I'm sorry," Jack said, repeating it as he reached up and briefly, lovingly, caressed the side of Pitch's face.

The Boogeyman looked as if he didn't know whether to be angry or receptive, but he wasn't backing off just yet. Feeling as if his time was somehow running out, Jack was quick to grab on to him and pull him down closer. He wrapped his legs around Pitch's waist, just as he forced him into a kiss.

It was quick to become heated; the Boogeyman did not resist at all after their lips met. The euphoria Jack felt just from the acceptance was otherworldly. He moaned into the kiss, running his hands over Pitch's back as he rocked his hips against him. His desperation was met in kind, until the Boogeyman broke the kiss to hold himself up with his arms again, arching on top of Jack since the frost boy had him well and truly secure with his legs.

Jack reached up and ran his hands over Pitch's chest, not wanting to break the contact for even a moment. The look on the Boogeyman's face was almost one of torment, helpless and aroused.

"_Jack..."_ he moaned breathlessly.

At the sound of his voice, consciousness briskly returned. Jack woke up, pillow still clutched tightly to his body. Golden, sparkling dust caught the sunlight as it fell from above and scattered over the bed, shimmering one last time before disappearing.

He didn't have time to feel bewildered or ashamed about the dream he'd just had, for he was currently experiencing a state of arousal he hadn't previously known existed. Not caring about subjecting a stranger's pillow to his own twisted desires, he ran his hands down it to get a better hold as he began grinding up against it.

With the pleasure of his dream still fresh in his mind, he reached his peak within seconds. Shuddering and gasping for breath, he clutched the pillow even tighter to his body until the throbbing ebbed. Going slack after the fact, he tried to regulate his breathing and calm his body down.

When the haze began to clear, the gravity of what had just happened dawned on him. Had that been a nightmare? He'd seen the dust after he woke up, but it had been golden, hadn't it? No, that was just a trick of the light... It had to have been.

Quickly he got up and grabbed his staff, but he paused. Looking back at the bed, he pondered a moment before going back over and adjusting the pillows exactly as they had been before. After that, he left as discreetly as he'd arrived.

It was just a weird dream, he reasoned; nothing to get worked up over. He'd forget about it in a week for sure.

Perching on top of a nearby house, he began scanning the streets for something to do.

Besides, it was probably just symbolism, like all dreams are, or so he'd read in one of the many books over at the North Pole. Too bad he'd neglected to look up what... _naughty _dreams about people meant. The fact it had been about him and Pitch was a _little_ distressing though.

_Extremely distressing, _actually.

It wasn't that the thought was a horrible one, a fact alone which made him feel shame the likes of which was enough to cause him to trip on his own ice; he just really, really did not want to believe he could have a dream like that without outside influence.

What was the guy up to, anyway? He hadn't heard from him since the big battle, which could have been years ago now. All he'd seen of the Boogeyman was the occasional Nightmare lurking the streets of the larger cities at night, and Jack always steered clear of those. They were a normal occurrence, long before he'd learned much about who Pitch even was, and he wasn't about to change his attitude about never going near the beasts unless doing so was absolutely necessary.

If his dream had been tainted, it probably meant a bigger problem was soon to come. Either that, or Pitch was toying with him in ways he never wanted to imagine he could.

There was only one problem with both theories, however; the very prominent lack of the thing required for a dream to be a nightmare: _Fear._ And that was the only thing which the Boogeyman could inflict on others.

Sitting on the rooftop as he continued to watch the streets, Jack ran his hand over his face, frustrated. Over-thinking things always tended to make him dreary, not to mention it gave him a headache.

Forgetting about it was definitely the best option.

Standing up to scan the town one more time, he briskly took off toward another section of it; moving fast as if literally trying to ditch his own thoughts. He landed lightly on the edge of a high chimney this time. From there, he had an excellent view of the town as well as the surrounding forest thick with spruce trees.

It was incredibly peaceful out here this early in the morning. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, not yet visible over the treeline. Apparently it was a weekend as well, judging by the amount of people sleeping in or taking the opportunity to hole up inside.

Jack sighed. There _were _other cities to try, at least. He just preferred not to migrate more than once every two weeks. So far it had only been five days.

At this rate, it was going to be excruciating trying to forget _anything at all._

((()))

The next city would turn out to be three times larger, but unfortunately it was dark by the time he got there.

Perched on the tallest building to survey the area, he idly twirled his staff to stir the weather a bit. He could never arrive somewhere new without gracing it with at least three feet of snowfall.

As he slowly spun around, taking in the sights, he couldn't help but get a little excited; this place looked so much more promising than the last. Come daylight he would be having a ball, there was no doubt in his mind.

Stepping off the ledge of the building, he rode the wind all the way down to the sidewalk and landed weightlessly. None of the people strolling down the same path acknowledged him at all, but that was expected.

He put up his hood and walked on, observing the dark shops and buildings which towered above the rest. Pausing at the edge of the block, he leaned against a stop sign and looked up at the dark gray sky. A snowflake graced his cheek and refused to melt. Softly he sighed, not paying attention to a person who walked past him to cross the street. It was rare he got on their level and stayed for long. The melancholy which shrouded most mortals was contagious, but he supposed he couldn't really blame them.

After a moment of watching the snow, he realized it was no longer falling straight. He stepped away from the pole looked around. The wind had apparently picked up. Freshly fallen snow as well as the crystals which hadn't yet touched the ground were being caught and thrown with it, causing a white-out effect every time a gust whipped through the area. His brow furrowed with concern.

Quickly he whisked himself up to the rooftops again, the landing not nearly as graceful as it usually was. Snow was being blown off the roof, billowing around him and shimmering as it mixed with that already airborne.

It was beautiful, really. Jack was momentarily mesmerized as he watched the snow swirl and whip through the air. The wind was intensifying. The people which remained on the streets pulled their coats tighter around themselves and started hurrying to take refuge. Those in vehicles may have been protected from the harsh conditions, but with the snow whirling around it was a miracle they could see anything at all beyond their windshields.

There was a rhythmic, crisp sound which suddenly alerted Jack to something closing in behind him. He barely had time to stagger sideways before the dusky form of a Nightmare came raging past him. It leaped from the building's ledge, into the chaos of the blizzard and down to the streets below.

Bracing himself with his staff, Jack took a moment to calm his nerves only to notice the odd glowing points across from him. The ominous form of another Nightmare stood staring from the building at the opposite side of the street. For a second his breathing stopped, but the beast simply turned and disappeared.

Accidentally turning out a blizzard was nothing unusual for Jack, especially when he wasn't feeling up to par. Having not one, but _two_ Nightmares purposefully show themselves to him during one however, was a little weird.

Was Pitch trying to get his attention? If so, he was doing a good job.

Jack shook his head as if to clear it. He was thinking of the Boogeyman _way _too much lately. Following that thought were memories of his dream the night before, and his legs immediately went weak.

Yes it was official. He was thinking of Pitch way, _way_ too much. So why didn't he want to _stop?_

Stepping back, he looked around at the freezing chaos. The rushing wind whistling through the cracks and crevices of the buildings around him was loud and relentless; sounding like a bizarre kind of music to his ears. He bit his lip, hard, trying to regain his composure but all he wanted to do was curl up in a dark corner somewhere to hide; which was exactly what he ended up doing. Sneaking in through the window of the building he'd been standing on, he slipped behind some dusty old boxes to huddle up there.

He bit his own hand, eyes shut tight as he struggled to subdue the burning need rising inside himself again. Squeezing his legs together, a helpless little whimper escaped him. It wasn't easy, but he managed to bury the thoughts once more and slowly calm down. His head fell back against the musty smelling cardboard behind him and he relaxed, panting.

After about a second of listening to the wind howling, there came the telltale sound of horse hooves against floorboards. Jack went absolutely still, his brilliant blue eyes wide. There came one snort, and then all was quiet. It was behind him, just on the other side of the boxes he was leaning against. A Nightmare, there was nothing else it could have been.

_What was it doing here?_

He reached over and placed his hand on his staff, gripping it tightly as those hooves drew steadily closer. The creature didn't even bother with pausing again; its massive head emerged from behind the boxes, bright eyes glowing like fire within its skull.

Jack was the first to make a move, leaping to his feet and lashing out violently with his staff. A great wave of ice and snow rushed forth, throwing a couple large boxes aside as if they were empty. The Nightmare came apart, its body turning to dust the second his attack touched it.

The shadowy particles caught the ice as they were thrown upward, freezing solid into a freakish shape near the far wall; like a giant spiked millipede strewn across the room, attached only to the floor and ceiling.

Jack stared at it for a long time, reminded instantly of the conversation he'd had with Pitch, together in the snow that one time. It bore a striking resemblance to the sculpture they'd accidentally created together.

His train of thought derailed when he noticed the shadow particles collecting on the floor in streams to flow through the cracks in the floorboards and window. Outside the blizzard was still raging; he could only imagine the fleeing dust would simply be scattered, but then again he had no real clue how Nightmares worked.

Turning his attention to the boxes that had been thrown, he could see their contents had been scattered over the floor; old dusty metal parts and cans of paint.

For a long time he just stood there staring, listening to the restless wind's howl while his thoughts wandered.

A Nightmare had come right to him ...that was the last straw. Something was up, and he was going to find out what.

Heading over to the window he'd come in from, he carefully avoided his dangerous-looking ice sculpture on the way there. Shoving the window wide open, he did not flinch when the violent weather forced itself inside. Streams of snowflakes curled about him as the wind whipped past, and he glanced one last time at the freak ice formation behind him before he climbed on through.


	2. Chapter 2

It was broad daylight, now. Jack stood in the very same clearing he'd first woken up in all those hundreds of years ago. He wasn't here to reminisce, however. His back was turned to the lake and he had his eyes to the ground. Loosely shielded by the shattered remains of a bed was a deep black pit, appearing as nothing more than a stripped well from ages past, but its origins were much more nefarious than that. The hole had been closed up last he had visited this place, turned to nothing but an unnaturally barren patch of earth surrounded by foliage. When exactly it had reopened, he wasn't sure.

So far he had been standing here, pacing occasionally, for well over an hour trying to get up the nerve to go down there. Why was it so difficult _this_ time? He'd leaped down there without a second thought before. Then again, he hadn't exactly been _alone_ then, nor was he going on nothing more than a hunch.

Frustrated, he slapped his palm against his forehead with an angry groan.

"Come on," he urged himself, "Come on come on _come on..._ There's nothing to be scared of."

Looking back at the hole, he felt his hackles rise. Deciding that trying to do this at night would be considerably worse, he told himself he didn't exactly have _all day_ to pussyfoot around. After a couple deep breaths, he finally went for it. Knocking the boards aside with his staff, he made sure the way was clear before he gazed down into the pit from the edge again.

He was not afraid of heights. Obviously, someone who could practically fly as second nature wouldn't be. Nor was he afraid of Pitch, in the traditional sense of the word, or whatever else was lurking down there.

It was something... else. This feeling. It twisted his stomach in knots, and caused his body temperature to go up a couple degrees higher than normal. He'd experienced it before regarding the Boogeyman, but it had been very slight at the time, occurring only when their eyes met just right, or when Pitch had almost come close enough to touch. Later he would get the feeling when he thought about the other spirit at all, but of course Jack tried not to do that for he truly believed what he was feeling was just a normal sort of fear anyone in his position would feel.

Now that it was so intense he felt like his legs would give out come the slightest breeze, he saw that this wasn't normal fear at all. This was some unique type of mental torture he didn't have the capacity to begin to understand right now.

His hesitation drew on past the thirty second mark, and already he wasn't breathing.

How was Pitch supposed to take him seriously if he came in shaking like a leaf?

Because that's exactly how he felt right now. Like a leaf.

Taking a tiny step closer, he leaned over the pit and tried to see the bottom. That's when the ledge crumbled under his foot, and he had no hope of regaining his balance.

He toppled head first, immediately flailing as he tried to right himself while awkwardly catching the air in order to slow his fall at the same time. Thankfully, the shaft widened further down, otherwise he would have been in a world of hurt after his first somersault. With the darkness everywhere and the velocity he was going at, it was impossible to both tell where he should have been facing and then make himself face that way in a timely fashion.

Eventually he touched down, amazingly meeting the floor feet-first instead of face-first. His staff had landed before he did; lying nearby just a yard or so off. Picking it up, he brushed himself off before hesitantly making his way inside. Immediately he saw the tall entrance to the room he remembered well; the one with the cages. All around him were dark doorways and stone staircases leading up and down to unseen destinations, while bridges criss-crossed all throughout that gigantic cavern before him.

It was taking a great deal of self-control to not just turn and hightail it out of there right then, but he knew he'd come too far to back off now. He went forth and rode the air through the cavern, crossing the massive, cavernous space until he was able to land gracefully upon one of the higher bridges.

He did not stop moving; the less he stopped to think, the better. Unfortunately, he also had no clue where to go. Wasting no time, he went to check the areas which he remembered being in before, but to no avail; especially since he got lost along the way.

A couple staircases and hallways later, he stumbled into what looked to be a dining room, one built for an entire _kingdom._ Naturally, this gave him pause. The table at the center of the room was pure obsidian, looking as if it grew straight from the floor, and it stretched nearly all the way across the room which was easily a third the length of a football field. The chairs lining said table were matching, though more than one was chipped and worn, some even laid forgotten upon the floor with pieces left scattered.

The ceiling was adorned with an even amount of cages, and the way they were spaced caused Jack to come to the realization that they weren't cages at all, but giant lanterns.

Stalagmites had begun to form in places upon the table and floor, some longer than others, with matching stalactites above. One chair was almost entirely encased within a stalagmite, while others were just welded to the floor by hardened minerals. The entire room probably hadn't seen any activity in centuries.

Allowing himself to be curious, he approached the wide table and slowly walked alongside it to inspect the ornate craftsmanship put into each and every chair. Obsidian was not an easy material to make much from, especially chairs; he couldn't even begin to fathom the dedication put into making them.

Slowly he turned around, and was immediately met with a huge black shadow as it rushed past him, ruffling his hair from the wind of its passage and he fell backward with a very undignified shout of surprise.

Jack hurriedly got to his feet and turned, staff pointed forward and ready to unleash a world of hurt on whatever dared to assault him. His defense faltered considerably when he came face to face with none other than the Boogeyman he'd been looking for.

Pitch stood before him now no less tall, dark and menacing as the first day he'd laid eyes on him. He didn't appear at all bothered by the weapon pointed directly at him, either.

"If you're looking for any missing fairies, I'm afraid I don't have them this time. Maybe try asking the neighborhood_ cats_ instead. Or is there some other reason you're trespassing yet again, _Jack?"_ he spat the frost spirit's name as if it were an insult.

Jack stood his ground, steady despite feeling like his legs were swiftly turning to jell-o. He met that piercing, bright yellow stare and held it.

"Why are you sending Nightmares after me?" he stated with deadly determination.

"What?" Pitch responded with a chuckle, which quickly escalated until he was laughing as if he'd just been told the funniest joke known to man.

Jack furrowed his brow in a mixture of indignation and confusion.

"Why would I send _anything_ after you, Jack?" Pitch finally said, "You know, my Nightmares have been keeping their eyes on you ever since you arrived; they're the ones who told me you were here. It's _them, _not me."

He eyed the younger spirit for a moment, wearing that wicked smirk Jack knew all too well.

"Could it be that the fearless little Jack Frost isn't so _fearless_ after all?"

"What...? No!" Jack shouted, "I'm not afraid of anything and you _know_ I'm not."

In response, Pitch regarded Jack with a dry expression.

"Tell that to them."

Suddenly there came the sound of a horse's cry, reverberating throughout the entire cavern like the roar of a dragon. Jack whipped around and saw Nightmares, a very large number of them, surrounding both him and the Boogeyman in a wide semicircle which was broken only by the table to his right.

The demonic horses were tapping their hooves on the floor, snorting and tossing their heads restlessly. It was like they were waiting for something to happen.

"...I'm sure they'll believe you," Pitch added, casually inspecting his nails which had grown to become long and pointed since last they saw each other.

Jack backed up as near he could to the table behind him, holding his staff level while keeping himself low, ready to spring should any make a move. He turned his attention to Pitch briefly, blue eyes bright with a touch of trepidation.

"Make them leave," he commanded, his voice calm but clear.

Pitch chuckled, but his smile faded.

"I would if I could," he said, "But you see, my relationship with them is..._ symbiotic. _They do what I ask of them sometimes and look out for me as best they can, but in the end they do what they want, not what I tell them. After all, they've been running the show a _little_ longer than I."

Holding his hand to his chest while he ran the sides of his finger over his thumb claw, he regarded Jack thoughtfully.

"It couldn't be _me_ causing you this much strife... could it?" he asked with a little smirk, "Bad dreams giving you trouble?"

Jack's eyes went wide.

"Y-you caused my dream?" he couldn't keep the tremble out of his voice despite his try at conviction.

The Boogeyman chuckled again, "So I guessed right?"

His expression was quick to fall, the dark melancholy which enveloped him right then somehow more natural than his usual cold facetiousness.

"No, Jack," he stated. "I haven't tainted any dreams personally since your lot knocked me down here for _seven years_. I never expected to have _you,_ of all things, drop in after I managed to reopen one of my portals to the surface world. I got to admit, I was hoping for a minute you'd come to say 'hello' or something, maybe to have a chat."

He paused.

"Daft of me, I know," he said, "You're a _'Guardian'_ now, valiantly sworn by your _'Man in the Moon'_ to keep _me_ in line. Why on Earth would you come see me just to chat?"

For the first time, Jack was honestly taken aback. Had Pitch just implied he wanted some sort of kinship with him which _didn't _involve spreading terror across the globe? Weirdly, Jack didn't mind the idea at all despite everything.

His mind going into overdrive, the frost spirit tried to figure out what to say now. Should he try to console him? Say sorry? No! Why was he even_ feeling_ sorry? Pitch was the enemy of all the Guardians and himself by extension.

It still remained difficult for him to feel much conviction, however. Any damage Pitch had done turned out to be temporary. All the believers came back in explosive numbers, and every Guardian was literally back in business come the following day.

And what about Pitch...? Jack couldn't even begin to imagine being trapped in this maze of a lair for seven years, utterly alone. It didn't seem like much for someone who'd been alive for hundreds more, but he was positive he would go insane if put in that position. He knew what loneliness felt like, and crippling boredom even more so.

Now he felt like a jerk.

Slowly he lowered his staff, the curved end resting against the floor. There was still that little voice nagging at him, however. Reminding him of the events which surrounded Pitch's vicious attack against the Guardians. There had to have been more to it, something he wasn't being told.

"...Why did you do it?" he asked for lack of a better question, a look of reluctant concern on his face.

Pitch looked back at him with some confusion.

"Why did I do what?"

"Try to destroy the Guardians?"

"You should already _know _why, Jack!" he exclaimed suddenly.

A few of the Nightmares surrounding them reared up and cried out, the sound deafening with nothing to dampen it. The others bumped into each other as they stirred, stomping their hooves and nickering restlessly.

Jack was undaunted, "Not the whole story."

Pitch narrowed his eyes.

"For centuries longer than most of your 'Guardians' _combined,_ I have been around. I could never give you the whole story."

He paused to think.

"I was desperate for a change," he began, "I wanted to know how much power the Guardians _actually_ had over me. What better solution than war? Destroying them all, well, that was just going to be a fortunate side-effect. And if I failed...?"

Slowly he was pacing back and forth while he spoke, cloying shadows swirling like smoke in his wake.

"I could take the punishment."

For a moment Jack was silent, his thoughts and emotions pulling him in two different directions.

"Didn't you ever... try to get along with them?" he asked carefully, "You know, coexist together?"

The Boogeyman regarded him with an emotion which he couldn't quite place.

"Of course I did," he replied, "I was just so... envious. Knowing it was possible for people to _want_ to believe in you. To be loved rather than feared and hated."

There was a short silence in which even the Nightmares seemed to grow quiet; staring almost forlorn.

"I'm not going to try to justify myself to you, Jack," the Boogeyman suddenly spoke up with renewed vigor, "There's really no point to it now, is there?"

Jack's eyebrows furrowed, slightly hurt by those words though he didn't know why.

"That isn't what I wanted."

"Then what _do_ you want?"

The way Pitch looked at him upon asking that question caused a shiver to crawl down his spine. His face heated up enough he was sure he was visibly blushing, and as if on cue the Nightmares suddenly grew restless once more; tapping their hooves and snorting loudly.

"There's one thing," Jack began uncomfortably, glancing around at the demonic horses, "Could you... please _try_ to make them leave?"

Pitch looked around at them as well. There was a short silence before a small smile spread across his face and he suppressed a laugh; suddenly amused as if listening to a joke only he could hear. He regarded Jack again with intent, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"They say you're afraid of me."

Jack's eyebrows furrowed and he stood up straighter, instantly filled with indignation. It horrified him that those things could read his emotions at all, let alone pick up on some aspect _he_ didn't even fully understand.

"How did they tell you that?" he half-shouted, "I am _not_ afraid of you!"

Pitch gave him a sort of piteous look.

"Who are you trying to convince, Jack?"

Immediately, Jack picked up his staff and took a step forward.

"Ah, wait!" Pitch stopped him, "No weapons."

Jack narrowed his eyes.

"Not my rules. You wouldn't want to make them angry," Pitch added in a more sinister tone.

Wordlessly Jack tossed his staff to the side, before launching immediately into an attack. Pitch blocked it just as swiftly, the frost boy's foot striking his forearm with enough force to cause him to step back. He swiped at the kid the second he rebounded, but Jack was already out of his reach. The frost boy completed a back-flip before landing lightly on top of the table.

A thin layer of frost covered Pitch's entire forearm around where Jack's foot had struck. He idly brushed it off with his other hand, never taking his eyes off of Jack.

The Nightmares had begun to stomp loudly, rearing up all around them and whinnying uproariously, reminiscent of children in a schoolyard cheering on a fight between classmates.

"There's no need to hold yourself back," Pitch said with a wicked grin, "I promise I can take it."

"You want me to hurt you?" Jack called back, "Fine!"

Again he sprang, focusing his power and sending a great swath of snow forth which blinded Pitch to his next move. Touching down upon the floor, Jack lunged and managed to land a kick right under the other spirit's ribs. Pitch cried out sharply in pain, staggering backward a few steps from the force of the attack. Jack did not allow him time to recover, launching into a rapid series of attacks which blended his powers with physical blows.

He was not expecting Pitch to recover so quickly; the Boogeyman met Jack's frost with tangible darkness, blocking a good number of them. Jack propelled himself back to prepare for another go, but was stopped when Pitch caught him by his ankle.

Thrown sideways, he hit the ground and tumbled to a stop upon his stomach.

"You know what?" Pitch said with a laugh, "Forget the rules, I think you should have your staff back."

Slowly, Jack got back to his feet and glared over at Pitch with anger borne from humiliation. The Boogeyman walked over and retrieved the aforementioned staff, holding it in his hands as he inspected it for a moment.

Even from a distance Jack could see the shimmering swirls of frost left behind on Pitch's cloak, chaotically strewn about his shoulders and chest. There was something strangely beautiful about how he looked right then, his stately, gaunt form captivating with natural poise. Jack would have admired the sight more if Pitch didn't currently have a hold of his staff, and last time that happened he had it returned in two pieces. The mere thought made Jack freeze, unsure if he should attack to get his implement back or try to negotiate.

As if sensing his distress, Pitch looked over at him.

"You mended it well," he said.

Holding the staff upright at an angle, he thoughtfully ran his fingers down along the deep grooves in its surface.

"Hard to believe it was ever broken."

Before Jack could formulate a proper response, Pitch had already tossed the instrument his way. It landed loudly and slid across the floor, coming to a stop a few feet in front of him.

Jack stared at it a moment, before quickly stepping forward to pick it up. Sending an incredulous look up at Pitch, he was met with an expectant one.

"Well?" he prompted, spreading out his arms, "You have yet to hurt me, Jack."

Any anger the frost spirit managed to hold on to before was gone now, replaced with a strange sort of sadness which showed on his face. He shook his head, breaking eye contact to back up and run his hand through his pristine, snowy white hair while he rapidly filled with undirect exasperation.

"I don't _want_ to hurt you, Pitch!" he finally exclaimed, "Just because I'm a Guardian now doesn't mean we can't..." he cut himself off.

There was a short, tense silence. The Boogeyman was obviously taken aback. Even the Nightmares all went quiet.

"Can't... _what?"_ Pitch warily prompted.

Jack shook his head.

"...I'm sorry I came here," he quietly spoke, just before he turned and fled.

Pitch stepped forward in reflex, hand outstretched when he nearly yelled out _'stop!'_, but the word caught in his throat. There was a sort of desperation in his gaze for those few seconds, a tiny glimpse at weakness he usually kept well hidden. But he stopped himself and recoiled, pulling his hand back to his chest.

The frost spirit was gone too quick to see it anyway; fast as lightning when he could just soar over the wall the Nightmares had created and out through the door.

Pitch glanced off at the dismal, empty room which surrounded him now. The Nightmares had gone, too, in an instant with nothing left to entertain them.


	3. Chapter 3

In the moments directly after fleeing the King of Nightmares' lair, Jack was positive he'd never felt frustration the likes of which he did then.

As he distanced himself from that place, a special type of agony began to grow within his soul. In mid-flight he paused, the powerful desire to turn back tugging at his mind like a cord. He looked over his shoulder for just a moment, down at his old home with a sort of anguish in his ice blue eyes.

He did not think twice before he turned and continued his swift departure, catching the wind to ride it _anywhere_ else.

It was an hour before sunrise when Jack finally stopped somewhere; that special time of night when the temperature outside seemed to dip by about ten degrees. He airily landed on the rooftop of someone's home, silent as freshly fallen snow. The roof shingles felt rough like sandpaper beneath his bare feet, frost branching out across the bumpy texture like tiny white veins from where he stood.

The moon hadn't been visible all night. The only illumination was given from the streetlights below, but for once Jack was content with the thought that the Man in the Moon couldn't see him like this.

He sat down heavily with his back facing the light, his thoughts which had thus far been on hold beginning to race.

Never before had he wanted to be with someone just as badly as he wanted to beat the crap out of them. He desired to be close to Pitch more than anything right now, but at the same time the thought terrified him. He wished he had stayed, told Pitch that he _did _want to be friends, but the ethical part of him- the part which was a Guardian now- kept trying to reassure him he'd done the right thing.

So far it was failing miserably, but what _else_ was he supposed to do? It seemed that as long as he remained a Guardian Pitch would hate him, and there wasn't exactly any turning back now as if he would ever consider the option.

There was a pensive expression on his face as he took his staff in both hands and began inspecting it. Running his fingers lightly over the area the King of Nightmares had touched, he felt some significance in the fact that Pitch hadn't snapped it in half this time. Then again, he was probably just reading too much into it.

As his thoughts wandered, Jack remembered what Pitch had said to him back in Antarctica all those years ago, about knowing what it felt like to be so alone, about longing for a family. It had hurt to refuse his offer of kinship even then, but at the time it had been all too easy with self-righteous conviction on his side.

But Pitch talking about wanting to be _loved _back at his lair... All Jack could think now was how badly he wanted to give it to him. His body grew warm just from the vague idea, and rapidly it became difficult to think through the sultry haze building in his mind. He shook his head as if to clear it.

If only he hadn't sought the King of Nightmares out. He could have dealt with these growing, torturous feelings he had for him like he usually did- by ignoring them, _running_ from them, until they finally relinquished their hold.

Then again, no one was stopping him.

He looked up to see the sun peeking above the horizon, igniting the sky in brilliant pinks and yellows of sunrise. Today was a week day judging by the kid walking through the alleyway in front of him with a saggy backpack weighing at his shoulders.

_'It should be easy to forget for a while, then,'_ he thought to himself as he got to his feet.

((()))

High above the jagged tips of the massive, semi-subterranean palace that was the King of Nightmares' lair, the stars were just beginning to shine. Moonlight streamed in through the cracks in the roof, illuminating the dust particles hanging in the air on its lengthy journey down, down into the infernal pit.

Even just the barest light upon this wretched place the moon gave with great hesitation. Fearlings swirled about the moonbeam like living shadows, their spidery limbs and protrusions outstretched, jagged mouths agape and eager. The darkness did not fear the light in this place. It did not flee in an instant to be banished by the mere click of a switch, if such did exist. It hung about the lower parts like thick fog, hardly penetrable, and even dared to blot out the moonbeams entirely.

Partially illuminated was the remains of what used to be a chandelier, easily the length of an ocean liner turned on its nose, now petrified by black stone like stalactite drips over centuries of unuse. The very edge was connected to an open floor which was dominated by a massive pillar surrounded by black stalactites and their sibling stalagmites, resembling the gaping maw of some huge unfortunate creature.

Just below that was another open room, circular and adorned with jagged rock formations similar but not quite as huge as the ones above it. Between two of these, one a small pillar and the other a very long stalactite, a hammock made of black sand had been woven between with its ends affixed to them both like a spider's web.

Within this hammock, the King of Nightmares himself lie reclined. His legs were crossed and he was holding up what looked like a volleyball-sized replica of the globe which resided in a different part of his lair, watching it with narrowed, silvery eyes as it hovered and slowly spun a few inches above his clawed fingertips.

Upon the continents existed tiny points of light, white in color like pinpricks through an inky black backdrop. These did not represent those who believed in the Guardians like his larger one did, _these_ ones indicated those special boys and girls who believed in the Boogeyman. It was one map he would never make a permanent feature of his lair, even though being without it when he lost every bit of his nightmare sand was easily its own type of hell. The fact his Nightmares had dragged him back home and basically locked him up for a while didn't even compare, though he had been very, _very_ upset about that to be sure.

He knew that they had only been trying to protect him, or at least, he realized it _after_ they had dragged him back and shut off all access to the outside world. As creatures of fear and darkness, he could hardly blame them for being a little rough.

If the Guardians knew about_ this_ particular map, they'd be much too alarmed to see just how many kids and even teenagers believed in the Boogeyman that didn't before. All over America in particular. A small smile spread over his features; this Halloween was going to be the best he'd seen in ages.

With a snap of his fingers the globe went from solid stone to the finest grains of sand and flowed down to join the rest. Idly he draped his arm over his chest and peered sideways out at the cavernous interior of his palace. Fearlings were swarming out from the bowels of the place for their nightly harvest, slithering and darting about to resemble things you'd see in your periphery after too many hours without sleep.

Not that he ever experienced that particular illusion.

Seconds passed before his thoughts wandered to the same place they had for the past day and a half whenever he allowed himself time to relax; to the obnoxious little spirit named Jack Frost. Ever since the boy showed up on his doorstep two days ago he had become the first and last thing Pitch never neglected to ponder. He barely knew the emotion he saw in the kid's eyes during their little interlude, he'd seen it before on him. Some sort of reluctant pity, maybe. Confusion and anger during the end.

Pitch liked to think he had already banished all hope of friendship between them. Jack had become just another Guardian, another _adversary_. There were no differences between him and the next; it was easier to think of it that way even if it was, admittedly, regrettable.

Yet when Jack said what he did just before running off, there came a burning, familiar agony like acid dripping down Pitch's heart, reopening wounds already scarred. He hadn't realized how shattered he had been when Jack had rejected him that day in the snow, if just a hint of the boy desiring to be something other than mortal enemies was so painful.

And what if Jack wanted to be friends now that it was all said and done?

_What if he had changed his mind about being a Guardian altogether?_

As impossible the idea seemed with reason, the way it raised Pitch's hopes sickened him to the core.

He didn't need a _partner_ or a _friend,_ he never had and he never would. Even if the Guardians had numbers on their side, Pitch was still stronger. Picking them off one by one was still an option even with the Man in the Moon to warn them of his advance. If they didn't have numbers they had nothing. The only one who would even be a slight problem was the Sandman, and Pitch had done well by eliminating him early last time. Or rather,_ almost_ eliminating him.

Thinking over all the mistakes he had made during his last attack was nothing short of maddening.

"...I have to get out of here," he muttered to himself, just before disappearing in a flurry of animate shadows.

The nightmare sand collapsed and fazed out of existence before it even touched the floor.

((()))

On a quiet little street within a suburban neighborhood, a little girl of about eight years old looked out her bedroom window. There beneath a streetlight which had gone out just seconds prior, stood a tall, thin, black figure which hadn't existed until a minute ago.

She stared and stared, wondering if it was just her eyes playing tricks on her or if she was really seeing something, but deep down there was dread pooling heavily in the pit of her stomach. The streetlight flickered just enough for her to see that the apparition was, indeed, tangible. That was all she needed to go running from her bedroom screaming for her mommy.

Pitch was none the wiser, but it didn't really matter. Anyone who had a child wouldn't be able to share their sight. All they would see was an old worn out streetlight, flickering not because of supernatural influence, but because of worn out wiring.

Silent and smooth as a phantom, he crossed the vacant street and paused at the other side when a tiny snowflake drifted down right in front of his face. Turning his gaze to the sky, he saw many more floating on the still, chilly night air.

When he had teleported he'd chosen at random, but he certainly hadn't expected to find himself in the right climate for snow. He usually ended up in warmer areas, dry and hot to be specific, probably due to some form of subconscious preference he wasn't sure. A humorless little chuckle passed his lips. No doubt it had something to do with who he had been thinking of right before he left.

Something black and wispy rushed past just then; one of the many Fearlings which scoured the Earth every day and night for dreamers to prey upon. He followed it with his gaze as it flew down the street, pausing at a house on the end of the block to 'peer' in through the highest window. In an instant, it darted forward and slipped through the cracks.

Normally Pitch wouldn't think twice about his minions doing their job, but this time, for whatever reason, he followed the shadow. The streetlight nearest him went out with a 'pop' in the wake of the energy he used to teleport.

The next instant he was standing in an attic, one whose roof was just high enough for his head to nearly brush the rafters. Hidden in shadows he was a pillar of darkness, his silvery eyes dim enough to barely be seen should the Fearling's target stir.

And there it was; a familiar, curled form lying upon a dusty twin mattress. The attic was littered with boxes and other unwanted furniture such as lamps and figurines, all covered in a generous layer of dust. It looked like it hadn't seen a living human being in many years. That, however, was not his first clue. The familiar, long and curled shape of a wooden staff lying propped against a box right beside the bed was.

_'Frost...?'_ he barely missed whispering aloud from the magnitude of his surprise.

The spirit had his hood up and he was in a fetal position, well and truly unconscious if the golden dream sand swirling above his head was any indication. Pitch tore his gaze away to look at the slithering, smoky black monster crawling its way toward the bed. His lip twitched in the beginnings of a snarl but he suppressed it and dismissed the Fearling with a wave of his hand.

When Pitch moved, he did with such grace he seemed to glide rather than walk; detaching himself from the shadows when he passed in front of the window from which light leaked.

The boy looked so peaceful from this small distance, but Pitch couldn't help but feel a little concerned. Jack was immortal just like he was, and thus did not require sleep. The only time Pitch had gone into slumber was when he had been imprisoned within the Earth, and it had been only to pass the time.

He'd never seen another immortal sleep before, at least, not without influences. The closest he'd come was watching a spirit fade away; but Jack couldn't have been fading away. He'd gotten plenty of kids to believe in him, and just days ago he was lively as ever.

Smoothly, the King of Nightmares moved to stand beside the bed. He eyed Jack with intent, his silver irises glimmering a hint of gold now. It was very strange, seeing the frost spirit so incredibly vulnerable in a position Pitch was all too used to seeing mortals in, and what about his dreams?

The golden sand showed only the most basic of shapes, and nearly always failed to show what the dreamer was really seeing. Pitch knew the boy wasn't so simple as to be dreaming of giant snowflakes, but the only way for him to tap into Jack's head was if he were to touch the dream sand; taint it black and plunge the boy into a world of agony within himself.

Pitch slowly sank down to kneel. The mattress was crusted with frost where Jack's breath continuously washed over it, but oddly the boy lacked the usual amount of ice around his hood and shoulders. There was a pink tint to his normally pale cheeks, and his eyes were moving rapidly behind their lids.

Intrigued, the King of Nightmares simply watched, never losing interest even as the minutes ticked by. Jack's youthful features lacked the tension which Pitch was so used to seeing, relaxed and content in unwitting slumber; peaceful and deceivingly delicate.

_'There's no harm in admiration,'_ Pitch thought to himself as he reached over and lightly touched Jack's shoulder, curious as well about the frost spirit's apparent difference in body temperature.

The boy twitched in response, but Pitch remained undaunted. He ghosted his hand lower, resting it just above Jack's hip. The frost spirit's body felt cool to the touch to be sure, but no more cool than the room itself. Figuring that was just because of the clothing in between, Pitch delicately moved his hand lower in order to slide his fingers up under the boy's hoodie with ease.

His thumb followed by his forefinger immediately came into contact with silky smooth skin, which surprised him. He had expected to feel a cloth barrier, but either Jack didn't wear a shirt or it was simply hiked up due to the way he was lying.

Compared to his own, Jack's skin was refreshingly cool; not ice cold like he had expected it to be. In fact, having never really felt his body temperature in detail before Pitch was having a difficult time deciphering if this meant he had some sort of fever or not.

Careful about his claws he ventured further, all the while knowing there was no logical reason for him to be doing so in such a manner. With the way Jack was curled, the slow journey over his flank to the sensitive area a few inches below his shoulder didn't take long. Hoodie bunched up at the juncture of Pitch's wrist, a smooth strip of pale white skin just above the hem of Jack's trousers was left bare.

Eyes which now shined pure gold lingered on that space, and it was all Pitch could do not to yank his arm back the second he felt that sharp twinge of desire. A soft gasp caused him to freeze in the process of slowly backing out, and he looked at Jack's face only to see that he was still sleeping, dream sand and all.

The frost spirit's hand was flat against the bed and only two inches from his face, as if he had been subconsciously about to cover his mouth. His expression, although still calm, was a little more tense than before.

After pulling his hand back the rest of the way, Pitch gazed down at Jack's troubled expression for a little longer. With the same gentle care he'd been exhibiting thus far, he ran the backs of his fingers over the boy's cheek. He lingered as he looked again at the sand still dancing pictures above Jack's head, contemplating if he should make it his before leaving.

"...Perhaps next time," he murmured, just before vanishing in darkness.

((()))

Jack awoke with a start, early morning sunlight leaking in through the window to illuminate everything within the dusty old attic which surrounded him. It took him a moment to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there, his mind muddled and confused from sleep and dreams.

He felt hot, uncomfortable and aroused from the images which had played so tantalizingly in his unconscious mind all night long. Immediately he rolled onto his back, unzipping his hoodie and pulling it open. He was panting, his breath just cool enough to not produce steam when it met the refreshing, cold air of the room. Pressing his hand to his forehead, he slowly calmed down as the cold gradually returned to his burning hot body.

Needless to say he'd dreamed of Pitch again, but this time there was no one to blame but himself. He hadn't been tired because he never _got_ tired, and he hadn't been fully expecting to have an innocent dream either.

After the second long day of nothing but intense play in a row, he was in too high of spirits to think when, the night before, he decided to run the experiment to see if his dreams would go somewhere dark again. Technically the majority of his dream hadn't been dirty; if it had, his arousal would have been at a level far less comfortable than it was now.

The good news was that all the local children believed in him now thanks to him instigating the biggest game of tag combined with snowball wars ever waged between a number of kids in a schoolyard. That wasn't enough, though, to wash away the feeling left in the wake of his dream. It was a deep, broad emptiness like yearning, enough to make his eyes well up with tears. He winced as they began to sting, and covered them with his hands.

Was this some unique type of loneliness?

He threw his thoughts in a different direction, and they fell to the other Guardians. Toothiana was the first to come to mind, however, she was usually too busy to have any sort of conversation other than sparse chit-chat while she flitted about her home busy as could be. She didn't _need_ his problems to deal with on top of her busy schedule.

Second was North, The Guardian of Wonder. He had been there before for moral support and was definitely someone who would be there again. Christmas was two months away which meant he probably didn't have as much free time as usual, but all Jack wanted was someone to be around for a few hours, someone to assure him that yes, he _was _still sane. If that meant he'd probably end up being recruited to help around a workshop alongside a bunch of elves and yetis then so be it.

Jack got up and grabbed his staff.

* * *

A/N: I am honestly blown away by the amount of awesome reviews and such I'm getting for this fic; this has never happened to me before, at least not so quickly! I'm still kind of stuck in a state of mild shock. Just wanted to say thank you all, and don't hesitate to speak your mind.


	4. Chapter 4

As Jack neared the North Pole, the stars became his constant companion. Darkness fell for the last time after he crossed half of Canada, and even after many hours the sun refused to return. While this was normal for polar regions, knowing so did not make the transition any less strange.

It felt like days were passing, the stars moving in an elongated arc across the sky the only indicator that the Earth hadn't frozen on its axis. Being the adventurous frost spirit that he was, Jack did not pass up the chance to explore the ice formations he spotted along the way. They were not as impressive as those found in Antarctica, but they were nothing to take for granted either.

He stopped at an iceberg which had a thick vein diagonally cut through the middle of clear, deep blue ice amidst the opaque white. Perching at the tip top, Jack kept a firm hold on his staff, its end buried firmly in the snow as he slowly scanned his surroundings.

There was a lot more ice here than there had been during the summer months. Absolutely _nothing_ looked the same. Thankfully, though, after a few more minutes of flying straight, Jack finally found North's base.

It was impossible to miss, really, literally lit up like a Christmas tree with a rainbow of colored lights strewn across every expanse despite the fact the place was largely consumed by a massive glacier. Jack couldn't help but feel a surge of elation at the sight; it felt like forever since he'd seen real illumination let alone something as magnificent as that.

He paused in mid-air to contemplate seeking out a door, but none of them looked as promising as the wide open runway which Jack was all too familiar with. Slipping inside, he used his stealth to his advantage as he made his way further in until he found the massive, wide-open globe room. That's where he spotted who he was looking for, but North wasn't alone as he'd expected. Sandman was there, too.

Jack floated upward to lightly land upon a wooden beam high above, crouching there momentarily. The other two Guardians did not notice his presence, even as he stood up and steadily began approaching along the balk.

North appeared to be very interested in a book which lay on the tabletop before him; he was leafing through it silently, and Jack couldn't see his expression. Slowly, the frost spirit tried to lean forward to get a look at what was on the pages. Just as he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a lit-up picture, North closed the book.

Almost immediately, Sandman started making grabby hands at it. Even from the angle he was at, Jack could practically see the puppy dog eyes the dream weaver was giving his comrade at that moment.

"You can have it now," North said slowly, but the other Guardian had already snatched it up and was flying off with it.

"But bring back when you are finished!" he shouted after him.

Figuring there was no more reason to hide, Jack glided down from the rafters. North was rubbing the bridge of his nose in agitation when the frost spirit hovered up behind him.

"What was that?"

North jumped up with a shout of surprise, nearly tripping over his chair. When he spotted Jack, he laughed at himself.

"Jack, it is you," he addressed, "Been a while, yes?"

The frost spirit looked a bit sheepish then, "Oh, yeah... Sorry, I'm still, uh, getting used to having... friends."

"It is fine," North assured him, "Want eggnog?"

"No, I'm-"

"Of course you are wanting some."

North crossed the room and returned with two large mugs, one which he offered to Jack. The frost spirit took it, the cup so big he had to use both hands to hold it, and stared dubiously down at the contents. It reminded him a little of melted ice cream sprinkled with cinnamon.

"Now, what is troubling you?"

Jack looked up in surprise; was it that obvious?

"N-nothing, is troubling me," he paused, noticing North's disbelieving stare, "Why do you ask?"

Out of nervousness, Jack took a sip from the mug he was holding, forgetting that he thought he didn't like eggnog. It was at that moment that he discovered he _did,_ in fact, like it. Being a spirit, he of course didn't have to consume anything at all and thus preferred not to. He'd forgotten how pleasant it could be sometimes. The sweet, creamy and oddly tangy taste was at that moment like a little touch of heaven.

"You are bad liar," North stated, "But I will not force conversation."

Jack nearly sighed with relief. For some reason, he felt a flush coming over his face and his whole body felt a couple degrees too hot. He glided over to a nearby sofa, unable to resist its inviting cushiness. Setting his mug, which was now just over half-empty, down on a side table, Jack proceeded to drape himself over the couch. That's when he remembered what he'd seen when he first came in.

"Oh! North," he got the other Guardian's attention, "What was that book Sandy took from you?"

There was a thoughtful look on the other spirit's face as he idly sipped from his own cup.

"It was... history book, from Man in Moon."

Jack's eyes widened, "The _Man in the Moon_ gave you a book!?"

"Yes, that was third."

Jack's amazement was only subdued by the odd lethargy which had overcome him, stemming from the warmth in his belly which had spread all over. He idly fought to get the zipper of his hoodie down again.

"That's _remarkable..._" he slurred slightly, "Is it... hot in here... or is it just me?"

In response, North gave a hearty laugh.

"That is bourbon," he chuckled, "Please do not tell me you never had alcoholic beverage?"

"Alcoholic...? Oh God," Jack pressed his palm against his face, and then began to laugh, "You spiked my eggnog."

"It is in recipe!" North defended himself.

Jack slid a little further down the couch in the midst of his giggle fit, one leg propped against the back while his right arm was draped down onto the floor. Later, he would definitely be glad no one but North was there to see him like this.

"I really... _really,_ want to see those books," he drawled, looking over at North with what he hoped was a sufficiently pleading expression.

The other spirit set down his mug.

"Maybe when you are not drunken idiot."

Jack looked as if he'd just been slapped.

"I was kidding," North chuckled, turning and walking toward the massive globe which was surrounded by book cases, "I will give you volume one."

Jack stopped following the other Guardian with his gaze, letting his head fall back so he could stare up at the ceiling with furrowed brows. His expression remained relatively the same until North returned with what he wanted.

The moment the frost spirit noticed North had returned, he scrambled to get upright. With his back propped against the arm of the couch, Jack reached out with obvious excitement.

"Do not let this leave room," North told him with uncharacteristic gravity, "Is too important to lose."

"I promise," Jack told him with equal seriousness, but given the circumstances it seemed unintentionally mocking.

There was a second or two of silence, and then, North smiled. He handed Jack the book before giving him a pat on the head.

"Enjoy," he said, before walking off.

Jack watched him. "Where are you going?"

"Check on yetis," North called back, before heading down a staircase.

A thoughtful look crossed Jack's features. He'd forgotten Christmas was near and thus work down below must have been chaos. Turning the book he'd been given in his hands, he inspected the dark, bland and textured cover. The only indicator of what was written within was printed on the spine in silvery lettering.

_Volume I: Rise and Fall of The Golden Age_

There was nothing else. No real title or indication of an author, but Jack could already figure who the author was. The very notion thrilled him.

It took him a moment to actually open the book and begin reading it. He wasn't expecting to be met with such a fantastical tale, coupled with images which were made semi three-dimensional with holographic technology. His mind still foggy from the alcohol, he didn't bother trying to concentrate on words for long and just began flipping through to look at pictures.

He paused when he came to a full-body picture of a man who looked startlingly familiar. Scanning over it with his eyes, he felt butterflies in his stomach. It looked exactly like Pitch; aside from the fact he was wearing armor and was brandishing a sword, frozen in the act of fighting what looked like a massive demon.

Jack scanned over the text in hopes of finding out who this man was.

Kozmotis Pitchiner, a general in the armies fighting _for_ rather than _against_ the good guys. No, it couldn't have been the Pitch he knew, but the resemblance was uncanny. Jack was having a hard time taking his eyes off the image. Slowly, he began to turn pages again, hoping to find more pictures of him.

The next interesting image he came across was near the end of the book; this one was _definitely_ Pitch. He was twisted and huge, a leviathan of shadow filled to the brim by the Nightmares and Fearlings which seemed to be a part of him.

Going back a few pages, Jack began to read from where he'd found the first picture.

If he were to turn his gaze skyward right about then, he would have seen the small, dark and sleek form of a tiny sand Nightmare staring down at him from the rafters.

The creature, along with its even smaller sister which was currently unseen, had been ordered to follow Jack and had been doing so ever since he crossed the Canadian border. Pitch had not, however, foreseen that the frost spirit would wander into such dangerous territory. With both North and Sandman in the same locale, it was only a matter of time before one of them caught wind of something.

Being just a tainted version of his own dream sand, the Sandman sensed the evil presence first and, disregarding any level of interest in what he was reading, sought it out. One floor above Jack, Sandman saw the little Nightmare the second he walked onto the loft. There was a moment of stunned stillness, until Sandy was sure the creature had not spotted him. Slowly approaching the Nightmare, coils of golden rope began to wrap around one arm as it was formed right from his hand.

Jack heard an odd scraping sound from above which caused him to look up, but by then there was nothing to be seen. He stared with a puzzled expression for a couple seconds before turning his attention back to the book.

It was impossible to see Sandman from the angle Jack was at, and thus the cat-sized hogtied Nightmare was held up by its rope for only its captor to inspect. He did not notice the tiny black speck of a horse take off from a knothole near where its sister had been perched, the insect-sized Nightmare making a beeline toward the nearest exit

Sandman took his captive with him, flying down to the lower parts of the dwelling to find North. The spirit of wonder was loudly giving directions to a few yetis within the workshop, but he instantly went silent when he saw Sandman come into the room. A couple of the yetis looked as well, and recoiled when they realized what he was holding.

Raised up high for North and everyone else to see, the sandcrafted Nightmare struggled weakly in its binds.

"Ah," North recollected himself, glancing at the small group he was just instructing.

"Keep doing what you were doing; I'll be back."

The two Guardians left the workroom for somewhere more quiet.

((()))

While all Nightmares of the natural born wild variety were thought to roam Earth at all times inciting fear where it was needed and sometimes where it was not, there were actually more which preferred a lazy day spent at home.

The wretched creatures often huddled in the deepest parts of Pitch's lair; tangled like spiders with only their glowing eyes, long sinuous necks and sharp angles to distinguish between them and the thick haze of shadows.

It wasn't a rare occurrence when Pitch would join them. Most people would be driven mad within seconds by the multitude of voices forcing their way into their heads, but Pitch was not _most people._ He had listened to the Nightmares' conversations for hundreds of years, he had talked with them and at times instructed them to do his bidding. It was no different for him than being in an overcrowded room.

The Nightmares regarded him as their own, made room when he decided to sit with them as he was currently doing now. The massive warhorse which he was leaning against looked big even compared to his tall stature, its body curled in a way which gave the impression of a sofa's back. There were other Nightmares lying around, one's tail end making up a sort of 'arm' for the makeshift couch while there were simply more tangled behind in a great black mass.

Pitch had his arms spread out resting across the Nightmares' back, reclining against the monster which remained tame as a house pet beneath him. Staring up at the ceiling with cold, silver eyes, Pitch listened silently to the creatures as they talked.

It sounded like whispers, hissing, loud, vicious and more worthy of a serpent's pit, but occasionally a phrase or location would stand out. They spoke of events, ones witnessed or current. More often than not they would mention traumatic death. Drowning, burning alive, wild animal attacks; it was their favorite type of fear to consume, but it was also the most fleeting.

For the longest time, Pitch did not spot the tiny horse flitting about his head trying desperately to be heard above the real Nightmares. When he finally noticed it, it was like a switch had been flipped and he was animate once more. Swift as a cobra he snatched the little Nightmare out of the air before rising to his feet.

He traveled through darkness to a much higher point of his lair, a hall lined with carved marble pillars which at one time had known a shade other than black. It was here that Pitch released the fly-sized Nightmare, black sand flowing from his hands to add to the creature's size.

As the Nightmare grew, its agitation became more apparent. It whinnied loudly and began to gallop circles in the air, snorting and stomping its hooves against nothing. There was some concern on Pitch's face as he reached out to calm the creature, running his hands over the now reasonably proportioned Nightmare's jaw, all the way to its neck when he drew closer.

With uncharacteristic sweetness he shushed his creation, "Easy, girl... it's alright now," he whispered, "show me what happened."

The Nightmare calmed instantly under his touch, going still and expectant. Pitch placed his hand against her forehead, opening the gateway to her memory. He hoped she had just gotten lost. The exact reason he hadn't made_ both _Nightmares so tiny and easily thrown around by the slightest gust. But of course, that would have been a stroke of luck much too big for him.

The second he was finished looking over those last few moments of memory, Pitch pulled back as if he'd been burned. The Nightmare instantly fell apart into sand, which disappeared as it scattered over the floor.

"The bloody_ Sandman_ of all things!?" he shouted with ill contained rage.

There went his secret. After he'd been so discreetly pilfering that very Guardians' dream sand for _years_ just to get to the meager amount he currently had. Any time he'd ended up observing Jack Frost before now, the kid was always alone; not another Guardian in sight. He just had to choose _now_ to go pay a visit to the bloody _North Pole,_ the only time Pitch had _intentionally _sent something to spy on him.

Pacing quickly, he tried to think up a plan to somehow deal with this. There was a moment of inaction before he teleported off in shadow, appearing to melt through the floor. It was time to increase the security, because that was all he really _could _do.

That, and hide.

((()))

"Man in Moon is quiet."

North's blunt statement was slow to catch on with both Jack and Sandman, who had thus far been staring with expectant wonder at North who stood before the gigantic globe; the very same place they'd all been sworn to action before.

"Perhaps the little Nightmare was ... fluke?" he suggested.

Sandy responded by frantically waving his arms in a dissident fashion, before creating a little ball of sand in one hand which he then pointed to.

North rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

"If Pitch is weak in hiding, we could... go get sand back ourselves?"

"What?" Jack shouted, his voice reaching a couple octaves higher than normal, "He hasn't been weakened at all!"

Both the other Guardians looked at Jack, surprised by his outburst. Quickly, however, their surprise turned to expectancy.

"...How do you know?"

Sandy joined in by forming question marks above his head.

Suddenly, the frost spirit looked an awful lot like a deer in the headlights.

He couldn't admit he'd seen Pitch again, not only because it would raise suspicions, but If they knew the Boogeyman was doing just fine he was sure they would want to do everything in their power to make that no longer true. Jack simply couldn't bear another war against Pitch. He literally would not be able to fight him; would not be able to kick him while he was down again, and he wouldn't be able to see anyone else do it either.

"I just don't think we should underestimate him," Jack responded, forcing the calm into his voice, "Just now I finished reading everything that he's capable of, and we haven't even experienced a fourth of that!"

North waved his concerns off, "That was ages ago," he said, "Now, Pitch is nothing; hardly _'King of Nightmares'_."

Sandy crossed his arms and nodded in agreement.

For some reason, Jack found himself severely offended by that.

"He is just as much_ 'King of Nightmares'_ as he's always been," he ground out before he could stop himself.

For the first time, North gave Jack a scrutinizing look, one which made all the frost spirit's anger and all his bravado disintegrate instantly.

Jack shamefully averted his gaze.

Sandy was left bewildered.

"Something is telling me... you are more worried for Pitch, not us."

"That isn't true," Jack immediately responded, his voice wavering on an unknown emotion, "I don't want _anyone_ to get hurt."

There was no anger in North's gaze, just a sad kind of disappointment; somehow that hurt so much worse.

"We will get sand back," North stated, "You can come, or you can stay."

Jack looked toward the floor again as North walked away, his hands closed into fists. The Sandman lingered behind, still confused about what had just happened and clearly concerned. With little time to waste, however, he reluctantly put his worries aside and tagged along after North.

For a long time, Jack did not move. The things he'd read in that book about Pitch's life before he became the King of Nightmares put his own experiences to shame in every single way. At first he'd just found it impressive, but now he realized just how much sturdier the feelings he already had for Pitch had become.

He didn't want to go alongside the other two Guardians because he was afraid he'd end up standing against them. He didn't want to see _anyone_ lose, _anyone_ get hurt, but what would North and Sandy think the second he interfered? Stood up to them because he cared, not only about them, but about Pitch, too?

Time was running out; he had to make up his mind, fast.


	5. Chapter 5

There wasn't so much forethought as there was blind panic when Jack made his decision. He threw himself through the open portal just before it slammed shut unbeknownst to either of the other Guardians. It was only by some bizarre stroke of luck he managed to not land directly on top of North or Sandman.

Before either of them could turn and spot him, he scrambled into the shadows. Pressing his back against something solid, he held his breath and waited.

For a long time all was quiet. Slowly letting his gaze drift upward, Jack felt a pang of shock when he realized he was currently inside Pitch's lair. Nowhere else in the world had geography like this. He was sitting near the edge of a precipice, his back against a broad stalagmite. At the edges of the wide open chasm before him, there were signs that the floor he was sitting on was actually made of fine marble, tainted by a thick layer of black mineral deposits over the top of it.

A number of thoughts flew through his head at that moment. Honestly he was shocked. They'd actually teleported straight _inside_ the Nightmare King's lair?! They must have been totally nuts!

"_PITCH!"_

Jack nearly leaped out of his skin at the booming roar of North's voice. It echoed about the wide open cavern, slow to fade. A silence followed.

"...Of course he is here," North said in a loud whisper, "Remember? We saw him pulled in."

There was another short silence.

"He is probably just hiding. _Coward!"_ North made sure to shout that last word.

Moments after, there came the sound of hooves against granite, followed by the clash of conflict. Worried, Jack dared a peek. His eyes went wide. What he saw was a _real _Nightmare, not the sand variety.

North had both swords brandished, and as Jack watched he blocked those slicing hooves with the sharp edge, and the Nightmare's foreleg was caught near the ankle. It screamed a cry of rage and pain, falling back and kicking its legs before it began to ominously pace before the two Guardians.

Another one showed up while North was distracted, but Sandy had it under control. A golden rope of dream sand wrapped about its ankle and served to take its feet out from under it. Three more came charging in from the darkness on both sides, one of them leaping over its fallen comrade in an attempt to ram its head into Sandman, but it missed by only a hair's breadth.

North hardly managed to fend off the initial attack of both Nightmares which had targeted him. One was taken out by a blow to the side of its neck which sent it reeling, but failed to decapitate the creature like he'd wanted. The other managed to headbutt him in the arm at full speed, which knocked him back so violently it was a miracle he caught himself.

Jack gripped his staff which was lying beside him, his eyes bright with alarm, but before he could make a move he saw that the Nightmares were inexplicably backing off. They were snorting and tossing their heads in agitation.

"I was going to ignore you," came a familiar voice, "But look at what you've done... You've gone and upset my Nightmares."

North and Sandy turned to look up at the Nightmare King, which from where he was, Jack could not do the same.

"Pitch..." North growled.

"North," Pitch addressed, "...and _Sandman_... it's been a while."

"We are here for dream sand, not to fight," the Guardian explained, his voice calm but severe.

It was a tone most would have trembled before, but the Nightmare King only gave a sardonic chuckle.

"What makes you think I have your dream sand...?"

"Sandy found Nightmare, in my home."

Jack had slowly made his way over to the other edge of the stalagmite he was up against, and from there he could see. The Nightmare King was on one of the many decrepit bridges criss-crossing this seemingly never ending cavern, standing above but not incredibly far away. He reminded Jack of a dictator before a crowd. The mere sight of him was enough to have Jack's stomach alight with butterflies; a feeling he struggled to fight down. This was no time to get distracted.

Pitch turned away, waving off the Guardian's words.

"A mere straggler," he stated, "Maybe you should go out looking for the rest of them instead of bothering _me."_

North looked to Sandman as if for an answer. The other Guardian immediately shook his head and glared up at Pitch. _He's lying._

"That was no straggler, Pitch," North said with conviction, "It was on mission."

"And how do you know that?" the Nightmare King sneered, "Did it _tell_ you?"

Suddenly there was an explosion. A golden whip connected with the bridge Pitch was standing on and sent dust and debris flying from the violence of its impact. Jack flinched, realizing after a second that Pitch had disappeared probably moments before the attack landed.

"Care to try that _again,_ Sandman?" mocked Pitch from seemingly nowhere.

He had dissolved into shadows, a phantom which glided past the two Guardians and then disappeared completely into the darkness. Both North and Sandman instinctively stood back to back as the Nightmares, which had thus far been impatiently waiting, grew agitated once more.

"You are running away?" North jeered, but failed to incite the response he wanted.

Darkness began to whirl up around their feet and both North and Sandman couldn't hide their apprehension. All of a sudden any and all light was sapped from the world; the sun streaming in from the fissures in the ceiling above, the fire in the Nightmare's eyes, and even the golden glow which Sandy naturally gave off began to dim. Rapidly, the shadows had become so thick it was impossible for either Guardian to see so much as an inch in front of their noses.

North couldn't even tell which way was up in these conditions. He didn't dare move at all lest the disorientation intensify.

"This is not fair!" he shouted with rising anger, or maybe that was panic.

"You're in _my_ domain now," Pitch spoke, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"There are no rules but _mine."_

A sudden screech tore through the air, a sound like a horribly distorted Nightmare's scream. After that, there was dead silence. Anybody who knew North knew that he did not get shaken easily, but even _he_ was nervous about the level of sensory deprivation being thrust upon him now.

It was difficult to tell if those skittering sounds happening at random all around him were real; as if there were creatures silently clawing closer only to swiftly turn and run off once more. His skin was crawling, but he resisted the urge to twitch or even lash out at what he only _thought_ was there. After all, Sandy was still around and the last thing he wanted to do was injure his comrade on a stroke of paranoia.

"I can _taste_ your fear..." Pitch spoke from somewhere behind him.

North tensed but resisted the urge to swing.

"How does it feel to be so helpless...? I know It must be terribly _strange_ for you..."

"I'm having enough of your tricks, Pitch," North growled, "Come out and fight, coward."

In response, there came only the most nefarious laughter North had ever heard. Barely a millisecond after, something bumped into his back and caused him to jolt with alarm. He nearly whirled around and embedded both his blades into whatever had touched him, but his sense told him not to.

"Pitch?" he hissed.

No response.

"...Sandman?"

More silence.

"Tap twice for yes."

At that, there were two taps at his shoulder. He sighed with relief.

"Thank heaven... Did you hear him as well?"

There was another two taps.

A low rumbling started up, and if it wasn't for the deafening silence it would have been easily missed. The sound grew gradually deeper, and it took North a moment to realize he recognized the sound; it was the noise of something breathing in, something _huge._

Whatever it was let go with a whoosh, displacing sand and pebbles with the force of its exhale. North heard the small rocks scattering about his feet, just as the hot, moist air washed over him. He didn't dare move. Whatever it was couldn't have been real, anyway. The Nightmare King had always been good with illusions, but it appeared he'd gotten even _better _at it since their last confrontation.

Honestly, neither North or Sandy had expected something like this to happen. This was not the first time Pitch had been fought in his own lair. Maybe he was just pulling all the stops, or maybe he really_ had_ gotten more powerful somehow, it was impossible to tell for sure.

The rumbling grew louder, crackling in the beast's throat as it began to growl; the sound like a gigantic, angry dog. When the creature began to move, the sound of its claws against the stone floor brought to mind the glint of massive scimitars at the ends of huge, gnarled fingers. Something slid against the floor to North's left- something rough and heavy.

Suddenly, an immensely powerful force struck him. It felt like a battering ram had been driven into his right side and it knocked him clear off his feet, sending him to the floor with a shout of pain.

Pitch's sinister laughter sounded once more.

_"Look at you..."_

North tried to get up, only to have something heavy land upon his back to hold him down. The growling was loud and directly above him. It didn't take long for him to realize he was trapped under what had to have been the monster's paw.

The monster which seconds ago hadn't even been _real._

Meanwhile, Jack was in a state of absolute bewilderment. He could not see what the other Guardians were seeing. Pitch's illusion only extended to those he targeted. Both North and Sandman were currently being held down by some invisible force.

Jack watched as Pitch slowly walked toward North; there was a sickle in his hand, one which appeared to have been made of black stone.

_"Pathetic," _he hissed at the fallen Guardian.

Seeing this, it was only a matter of time before Jack finally sprang into action. Quick as lightning he was right there, in a fighting stance with his staff aimed at the Nightmare King. The look on Pitch's face expressed only half the shock he actually felt. The sickle he was holding fell apart into fine grains of sand and rapidly vanished.

An agonizingly long silence stretched between them in which neither of them broke eye contact. The air was thick with tension and the seconds seemed to draw on for hours.

"...Frost," Pitch finally said, "How unexpected..."

The casual displeasure in Pitch's tone made Jack feel as though his heart had just been seized by a cold, merciless hand.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Jack spat in response.

The Nightmare King smirked, but before he could respond the agitated cries of his Nightmares alerted him. Unfortunately, it was already too late. In his distraction, both Sandman and North had shaken free of their illusion.

Sandy struck first.

The moments to come were a blur. Pitch couldn't fight back after the Guardian of Dreams got one rope on him, and soon he was on the floor of the cave with his arms restrained; the rope looped around his torso. Sandy was working on getting his legs, too, but the Nightmare King was having none of that. He was kicking and fighting the whole while, making it impossible to keep a rope around his ankles.

"Get away from me you bloody glowworm!" Pitch shouted, for the first time without a trace of composure.

The Nightmares were trying to help their master from his plight, but North held them all at bay with his twin swords while Sandy did the work of subduing Pitch. Cornered against a pillar and a very wide stalagmite, the King's minions didn't have any room to attack. The two Guardians had done well to stage their intrusion in broad daylight, because his only other line of defense, the Fearlings, wouldn't dare come out this high into the palace while the sun was shining.

It wasn't long before the Nightmares realized they weren't getting anywhere, and they retreated reluctantly. Jack just stood back while all this went on, looking utterly lost.

"One would think _Nightmare King_ would be less of baby," Remarked North as he took the chance to grab Pitch by his bound arm.

Pitch snarled in protest as he was hoisted up onto his feet. The Nightmares all around them roared and reared up, but what happened next caused every one of them to quieten almost immediately.

North unsheathed a hunting knife which sparkled of starstuff, and put it to the Nightmare King's slender throat.

"You will be giving back sand, now?"

Not even a blade of such magnificence could _kill_ Pitch, but a gash in the throat from it would have been more than enough to put him out of commission for quite a while. Not to mention the agony would be akin to getting splashed with boiling hot oil.

Naturally this made Pitch nervous. That genuine fear in his eyes was not something Jack ever wanted to see again. He watched the Nightmare King squirm, pressing himself back against North in a vain attempt to keep the blade from his skin; even without cutting, the very touch of light so pure burned him.

Jack couldn't really believe what he was seeing. It was a shock, witnessing North act so cruel, even to their moral enemy. Then again, maybe he only cared because he no longer even _disliked _Pitch given whatever pretenses he'd had before now. Having learned of the Nightmare King's origins only earlier that day, it was difficult to feel anything but _sorry_ for him.

Pitch was breathing hard in distress, uncomfortably close to the Guardian behind him. He at first glared down at the knife, and then at Jack. The hatred and betrayal in his cold, silver eyes was something the frost spirit would not soon forget.

"Fine!" he gasped, "Just... release me."

_"Ah-ah,_ sand first."

A moment passed, and Pitch looked down. There was only a hint of lingering anger on his face, overshadowed by a look of crippling defeat.

The Nightmares began to back away, snorting and stomping their hooves as, in the center of the room, black sand began to appear. It swirled up, building slowly into a jagged sort of structure which vaguely resembled the outside of the Nightmare King's lair.

When the sand stopped flowing, the structure was twenty feet tall at its highest point and maybe seven feet wide. The Sandman stared at it in a mixture of horror and shock, while Jack was simply awestruck.

With only a hint of caution, Sandy went forth and gently put his hand against the solid wall. He closed his eyes to concentrate and in an instant, the sand began to change. The golden, shimmering hue returned, spanning out over the entire expanse like rivers cutting through the black. They bloomed outward and expanded at a rapid rate until, when the last grain of sand had been returned to its former glory, all of it collapsed in on itself. It fell and vanished as if being sucked through a wide open hole in the floor, but there was none to be seen after the last had disappeared.

Pitch did not watch, and he wasn't looking at any of them. When North let him go, he fell to his knees and made no move to get up.

"Good boy," North said, giving the Nightmare King a condescending pat on the head, "That was not so hard, right?"

"Piss off," Pitch snarled, still refusing to look at him.

North ignored him and walked over to the other two Guardians as he sheathed his knife. The Nightmares which had thus far been surrounding them had gone, leaving the room desolate and empty.

"Jack, I had not expected you! Excellent job as distraction," he clapped the frost spirit on the shoulder to accentuate how pleased he was.

Jack was nearly bowled over by the gesture of affection, and he forced a little laugh in response.

"Yeah..." he mumbled, sending a look back at Pitch.

The Nightmare King was still in the same position. On his knees, hands tied behind his back with his head down. Jack could not clearly see his expression. Every part of him screamed for him to stay behind, to explain himself, to apologize, _anything._

But he didn't, because he knew he couldn't.

When North reopened the portal to go back home, Jack was quick to follow him and Sandy through.

After they left, Pitch threw his head back and let loose a cry of rage which caused even the slumbering Fearlings hidden deep, deep down within the fissures of the infernal pit to stir.

When it was over, he doubled over and rested his forehead against the cold, dark stone. His bound hands closed tightly, and then his shoulders began to gently shake as, in a rare moment of weakness, he began to cry.

Two glowing eyes appeared in the darkness nearby. As if sensing the presence, Pitch turned his head slightly in its direction.

"... Yes, that would be appreciated," he responded to an unheard question, expertly keeping the emotion out of his voice.

The Nightmare detached from the shadows and approached him. Lowering its head, it hooked the blade of its nose under the binds around Pitch's body and severed the golden rope, layer by layer.

Pitch got back to his feet, rubbing his arms to get the feeling back into them. There was no sign of anything other than subdued anger in his expression, but the pain proved impossible to totally hide.

"I would rather avoid that now," he responded to another unheard question, "but... with you and your sisters on my side, we would at least stand a chance. Your offer will stay standing, I hope?"

Another silence, as he looked back at the Nightmare. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Good to know."

* * *

A/N: Wanted to add more to this chapter but it's been a hell of a week and I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer. Thank you all for your continued support. This year has not been a good one, I can easily say that, aside from maybe one thing, getting involved in this fandom is the best thing that's happened to me. Even if I don't reply personally, know I'm very grateful for your reviews.


	6. Chapter 6

It was Christmas eve and while all the elves and yetis were frantically working to put the last of the toys together and into their respective gift boxes, Jack was simply standing around waiting.

He was up on one of the higher level balconies, leaning against the banister as he watched them all work down below. It was one of the few places he could get to that would be out of their way, and judging by the amount of frost fanned out over the walls, crystallizing every cobweb and dust-bunny to be found, he'd been up there for a while.

It wasn't abnormal for him to get bored and freeze just about anything in sight, but the truth was; this particular restlessness was not borne out of boredom, far from it. He felt more like he was stuck in some sort of high-energy, frustration purgatory. North and Sandman had said something about organizing a meeting with the other Guardians moments after their showdown with Pitch. Jack wasn't exactly sure_ why _they needed to hold a meeting, and he hadn't had a single opportunity to properly question North about it since.

There were questions swirling inside his head that were demanding attention, and that wasn't the only reason he was having difficulty dealing with the inaction. Every single feeling he'd had for Pitch had intensified after their last encounter, like blooming sparks of flame which had been doused in gasoline.

He viciously, selfishly hated Pitch, felt so incredibly sad for him, desperately _wanted_ him in ways which continued to make him sick with himself. He'd never felt like this before. Never wanted something just as fiercely as he _hated_ wanting it. There was simply nothing in his vocabulary to describe this special brand of torment, nothing in his experience to tell him how best to _deal _with it, either.

He kept remembering the way Pitch had looked at him with such hatred and sorrow, kept remembering the way he had looked when he was bound by Sandy's rope, rendered so helpless. It was difficult to tell where his denial, lust, and self-hatred began and ended in the moments when he'd catch himself lingering on the thought of Pitch being bound and helpless; picturing his lanky, elegant form arching against the unforgiving stone floor with his arms bound at his back, a silent plea in his intense, argent eyes.

So lost in thought was he, that Jack didn't even notice when North joined the bustle of activity below.

"Jack! Where are you?"

The other Guardian's booming voice startled him. As if a switch had been flipped, he buried his thoughts, looking totally at ease while he took the direct route down; smoothly vaulting over the banister.

"Just waiting for you," he called out as he lightly landed behind North, "Are we set to go?"

The other Guardian spun around to regard him, "Yes! Go to sleigh, I will be there in moment."

With that the older Guardian turned and hurried off, probably to grab one last thing. Jack chuckled with mild amusement and did as North commanded. He'd asked earlier, for the first time ever, to come along on the other Guardian's rounds tonight because he was in such desperate need of a distraction. Not only that, but he hoped to get in some time to discuss that meeting North mentioned.

As his luck would have it, however, he'd grossly underestimated just how chaotic the journey would be. He knew it would be busy, but nothing had prepared him for _this._

((()))

"You said you wanted talk?"

Jack, at this point, had totally forgotten mentioning anything because it had been literally hours since they'd taken off and come back from delivering presents to every 'nice' child around the entire world. Draping himself over the nearest comfortable piece of furniture was literally the only thing on his mind as he walked a short ways behind North to follow him inside. Jack looked a little dazed when he remembered and realized all at once that _this was the very moment he'd been waiting for._

And yet there he was, unable to formulate a proper sentence for a good thirty seconds.

"Oh, yeah," he stalled, stopping when they met the globe room to lean idly against his staff. "Um... I was... curious about what you wanted to do with the other Guardians... What you wanted to tell them?"

He gestured vaguely as he spoke. North just gave him a mildly confused look.

"About Pitch!" he exclaimed as if it should have been obvious, "He is up to something."

He looked deadly serious as he examined Jack's rather blank expression.

"Do you not agree? Stealing Sandy's dream sand, and did you not see how powerful he has grown?"

Jack averted his gaze.

"I'm... not too clear on how powerful he's _supposed _to be, but stealing the sand is a little scary."

"Yes, very scary," North agreed, "Meeting is tomorrow, you will stay until then?"

In response, the frost spirit nodded, "I don't have anywhere better to be."

"Good!"

And then North left the room. With a sigh of exhaustion, Jack hovered over and flopped onto the nearest chair, which was easily big enough to cradle his whole body.

As he laid there, the gravity of what he'd just been told came slowly sinking down upon him like a blanket of thick molasses. There was no way the Guardians would assemble to discuss Pitch without them agreeing on an action.

_What action could they possibly take to strip the Nightmare King of his power?_

He couldn't even begin to imagine, but there was a distinct sick feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach.

((()))

Ironically, it was the two who had to travel by physical means who arrived first; Toothiana followed by Sandman. Jack greeted them, but otherwise remained hanging out above in the rafters. Anxiety had been plaguing him all night. It was easier to hide it from the other Guardians when he wasn't on their level.

When Bunnymund arrived about ten minutes later, he was jittery and shivering after having apparently tunneled a ways from the base, like what was required to avoid damaging the property. He was still combing the snow from his ears as he walked into the main hall where the others were.

"G'day mates. What'd I miss?" he said.

"Hello!" Toothiana greeted happily, "Don't worry, you haven't missed anything."

"North tell you two anything?"

"No, well, not _me,_" she chuckled, "but Sandy filled me in on some things."

Bunnymund looked between the two of them expectantly. There was a second in which both Tooth and Sandy looked as if they were about to say and sign something, respectively, but North interrupted them.

"Good, everyone is here!"

Bunnymund jumped a little. The Spirit of Wonder had somehow managed to sneak up behind him; something which was _far_ too easy for someone as large as him. As North walked past, Bunnymund forgot to make his annoyance verbal when he suddenly noticed something.

"Wait, where's Frost?"

"Up here, doofus," came the immediate response.

Bunnymund looked straight up to see Jack lounging on one of the low-hanging support beams above, using the spot where two intersected as a backrest. The frost spirit grinned down at him.

"Oh, good." Bunnymund said flatly.

"I am going to get right to point," North addressed everyone, "This is about Pitch."

In response to the name, Bunnymund's ears went up and he looked both alarmed and skeptical. Nobody else was quite as surprised due to the fact that they already knew.

"Pitch...? But it's only been... how many years, six?"

"Seven," Jack put in.

Bunnymund ignored him.

"What has he done this time?"

"He has stolen Sandy's dream sand like before," North told him, "But all is well because we confronted him in his lair and won it back!"

"I would really like to hear more about that part," Tooth interjected quickly.

The miniature versions of her hovering about buzzed and chirped with obvious eagerness, lacking the self control of their mother.

"And you will," North said with a smile, "But later."

"You fought Pitch by yourself?" Bunnymund spoke up with some level of awe, if not envy.

"No. Sandy was there, and if it was not for Jack we would have both been in a great deal more trouble!"

Where pride should have existed, Jack felt only an odd twinge of shame in response to those words. The other Guardians glanced at him and he looked away to hide his frown.

"Why didn't you blokes tell me you were going to...?" Bunnymund trailed off, pouting, "I would have _loved _to knock him down a few."

"Yes, you _would_ have," North agreed, "Maybe a little too much. But we are getting off topic."

Bunnymund sat back on his haunches, still looking miffed but willing to listen.

"Pitch displayed level of ability he did not have last we saw him. He used _illusion_ against us! If Jack had not been there as distraction, we would have lost."

There was a short silence. Jack gripped his staff a little tighter and kept his gaze averted.

"My question for all of you; what should be done about this?"

The three Guardians glanced at each other, before everyone acquired thoughtful expressions.

"Have we figured out where he's getting his power?" Toothiana warily said.

"That's a good place to start," Bunnymund chimed in.

Tooth, Bunny, and North all looked over one at a time to Sandy, who was signing pictures above his head. One very clearly stood out.

"A pony?" Bunnymund looked bewildered.

Sandy looked at Bunny as if he was the single most ridiculous creature in existence.

"No, no," North said, "Nightmares. It _is _Nightmares?"

Sandy nodded.

In response, North's thoughtful expression turned to one of revelation.

"Ah, of course it is Nightmares!" he said, "They must give him strength by feeding off of the fear of children."

"Not_ just_ children," Jack spoke up for the first time.

For some reason, North looked worried by this.

"If eliminating Pitch's believers will not be enough..."

"We take out the Nightmares?" Bunnymund questioned almost hopefully.

Toothiana looked apprehensive, and Jack could hardly keep the shock out of his expression. Even more horrifying, North looked to be seriously considering the option.

"If they are vulnerable to stardust just like Pitch," North said thoughtfully, "We could find way to-"

"No," Jack interrupted, "No, no, bad idea."

Everyone had mirrored expressions of surprise as they looked up at him.

"What makes this a 'bad idea?'" Bunnymund was the first to speak.

"If we attack the Nightmares, they're going to fight back. And so will Pitch."

"Better than waiting around until he's nice 'n' ready to attack us _first_. Or are you having a hard time rememberin' what Pitch did to us?"

Jack was about to respond, but the sheer power of the conviction in Bunny's gaze caused him to forget anything logical he could have said. He remembered vividly what Pitch had done, how badly it had wounded Bunnymund, and his voice simply wouldn't come.

"Never fancied you a _coward,_ mate." Bunny remarked.

That snapped him out of it. Jack got up, the base of his staff hitting the beam under his feet and causing a wave of frost to rapidly bloom out over the wood. There was an intensity in his icy blue eyes as he stared right back at the other Guardian.

"I am _not_ a coward. If you think I'm afraid of Pitch you have another thing coming."

Bunnymund scoffed, crossing his arms.

"If you aren't afraid of him then what's the problem?"

As the silence stretched on the tension in the room was palpable. The other Guardians all continued to look varying degrees of uncomfortable, with Toothiana being the most obvious.

"What you're thinking of doing is putting everyone in danger!" Jack finally said, "You have no clue what Pitch is capable of! And how do you know killing Nightmares is going to do anything other than start another war?"

"If _we_ don't start it _he_ will." Bunnymund said, "and I can bet that North has a better idea of what Pitch is capable of than _you _do, mate."

It was about this moment that Jack came to a sinking realization. There was nothing more he could say. Nothing short of devolving into a devil-sympathizing pile of everything a _Guardian _shouldn't be. Everything these Guardians, his only friends, legs were trembling and he felt like a fool, _worse_ than a fool. And everyone was staring at him.

Averting his gaze, he relinquished.

"You guys decide what to do without me, my opinion is obviously unwanted."

He turned and jumped from the rafter. Everyone watched him go, but nobody did a thing to stop him. Toothiana looked around at the others, concern on her face. Her miniature selves started flitting about nervously, twittering to each other. Sandy looked over at North, but the both of them were equally uncertain.

Even Bunnymund looked bewildered, or maybe that was just blossoming guilt. It wasn't like the frost spirit to just give up a fight like that.

As Jack was leaving he spotted one of North's special snowglobes sitting on a table. Without thinking he snatched it, taking it with him out the door without anyone noticing; they were already back to talking amongst themselves.

He took off with the wind, soaring high over the yeti village which resided behind the base. There were lights in the windows of the snow-drenched hollow, giving the illusion of warmth as they spilled out over the untouched snow. He wished he could have relished the sight more, but all he could feel was anger. Anger at himself and anger at the other Guardians.

Their hatred was justified, but to some extent it was just as justified as Pitch's was. Or so he wanted to believe. He hadn't exactly been given the greatest amount of detail when Pitch had spoke with him, but something had to be said about the sheer vehemence of the Boogeyman's desire to destroy _them_ and _them alone._ That didn't just come about overnight for no reason. Pitch had been around a lot longer than them, after all; was it really just him getting fed up with having to deal with them taking over his domain, or was it something more?

And here at the cusp of another conflict, Jack could see any chance he had at befriending and thus understanding Pitch slipping further from his grasp. Even if he did manage to get on the Nightmare King's good side, the Guardians would find out. They'd disown him and Jack knew they would, judging by the way they had acted tonight. No one had stood up for him. And why should they have? They all equally wanted to see Pitch gone, wanted to see his influence and memory snuffed out completely.

The thought brought Jack a sort of pain which he didn't quite understand, and that on top of everything else was all he could handle. Tears pricked at his eyes as the wind rushed all around him, causing his vision to blur in a very irritating fashion.

Nevertheless, he managed to locate a large snow drift to land beside, hidden from sight as he brought up the globe he'd stolen and whispered to it. He shook it and a stream of light shot forth, tearing open a gateway in the ether before him. He went through it before he could think twice on his decision, leaping to the other side, holding the snowglobe tightly in his hands as he landed without a sound upon cool black stone.

He'd teleported straight into Pitch's lair as he had with North and Sandman just days prior. The portal opened up in a much different location this time, however, a location which was strangely bright for being part of the Nightmare King's domain. Jack wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve so he could get a better look, fighting back the emotion which threatened to bring forth more.

All around him was a vast open space, which the more he looked at it seemed to be a ballroom of some sort. There were tainted black marble pillars lining the perimeter and decorative engravings adorning every wall. There was a massive fissure in the domed ceiling responsible for all the light, way up high where a chandelier once hung if the great big mess of crystal and metal below was any indication.

Knowing the risks he was taking just being here, Jack felt a sudden pang of apprehension as he slid the snowglobe into his hoodie pocket. Not one to listen to his instincts, he started to explore anyway.

Upon a tall platform layered with shallow steps, he spotted what appeared to be a throne. It was centered at the fore of the room, a dark, menacing looking thing which had a back that stretched incredibly high. While at one time it had probably been breathtaking, now it was monochrome as everything else in this place. Solid black as obsidian and lined up the back with uneven, sharp protrusions like tendrils reaching out into the unnaturally thick shadows.

It was horribly _unsettling. _Jack found he could hardly take his eyes off of it. He half expected it to come alive, from the way those tendrils gave the uncanny perception of movement. Unconsciously he was holding his staff before himself like a guard, and it took quite a bit of willpower to finally tear his gaze away and take to the air, gliding as he quickly crossed the massive room and touched down at the doorway.

From there he would meet stairs, followed by more stairs, sometimes leading down ever further into dark depths and sometimes leading up to nowhere at all. The hallways were random and uneven, sometimes he would find rooms but always they looked the same. Any furniture was rotted and ruined beyond repair, every curtain and carpet faded and torn.

"Pitch?" he would occasionally call out whenever he thought he spotted movement within the shadows, but it was never him.

As Jack progressed he grew increasingly desperate. Calling out more often, soaring to speed himself up when he wasn't running around. His calls became less and less afraid and more eager as time passed. He looked around and within the shadows, behind every pillar and every staircase.

Eventually, he somehow found his way to the cavernous central chamber. Landing more heavily than normal upon one of the many bridges which spanned its great dimensions, the look on his face was pensive as he observed the vast amount of emptiness all around him; emptiness which was occupied only by huge, hanging cages and thickening darkness. The symbolism was lost on him, but not on a subconscious level. The sadness which crept upon him weighed on his being like something physical. He wondered if this was how Pitch felt, all those years trapped within this place with nothing.

As Jack slowly made his way along the path, staff resting on his shoulder, he could not see the black creatures pulling themselves up the sides of the bridge he was walking on. They moved sluggishly; long, thin, clawed fingers hooking into the stone to pull their bodies forward while those which resembled eels simply slithered their way forth. Called by the retreat of the sun, the Fearlings had awakened just in time.

Within seconds they were crawling up every surface, leaping forth from the depths of the fissures by the hundreds, maybe even the thousands. Jack froze when he at last saw the movement, the animate darkness flowing forth from every dark crevice, both large and small. He could see the glowing spots of pale, empty eyes forming, and could barely make out the shape of the bodies writhing within; melding and breaking free from the roiling black masses which they all remained a part of.

Immediately Jack reached for the snowglobe in his pocket, fumbling with it for a moment.

"Burgess," he frantically whispered to the globe, before gripping it tightly and shaking it.

It was the first place he could think of- the first place he_ always _thought of. The portal hadn't even fully opened before he jumped for it, and something hit his ankle the second he breached.

He landed in a patch of freshly fallen snow, quickly rolling to his back to face the portal. It remained a gaping gateway of darkness for only a few milliseconds more before sealing itself shut, and immediately he noticed the oversized black serpent writhing obscenely in the snow at his feet. He backed away from it, horrified as the thing sizzled and melted before his eyes. The sunlight was burning it alive.

When nothing more than a tarry black smear was left of the creature, he looked around to make sure no one else had seen it. Thankfully, all he saw was tall, impenetrable wooden fencing. Falling onto his back he breathed a heavy sigh. The globe rolled from his chest and came to a stop in the crook of his arm.

He laid his forearm over his eyes to blot out the sun, and to cover the tears which he finally had no reason to hold back. It was clear to him now; even the Boogeyman didn't want anything to do with him anymore. Why had he expected anything less? He'd looked everywhere. Pitch had ignored him.

The desolation which came crashing down on him was overwhelming, crushing him under the weight of his failure. He felt at that moment, for the first time in years, like he hadn't a friend in the world.

((()))

Jack stayed within his home town, the one place he always felt like he belonged, until night fell. Perched upon a slanted rooftop while fluffy clumps of snowflakes came slowly down around him, he stared out at nothing. His blue eyes were shadowed under his hood, his mouth set in a slight frown.

Having been sitting there vacant for quite some time, he was at first unfazed when suddenly a presence came down beside him. The sound of large, humming wings caught his attention and suddenly there was Toothiana, in front of him and looking incredibly concerned. His eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Jack!" she exclaimed, sounding out of breath, and she dipped in mid-air as if about to faint, "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

"We?" he asked with a spark of hope.

"Me and my fairies," she shrugged with an awkward little giggle, "Most of them are out collecting teeth so I only had a _small"_ she gestured with her thumb and forefinger, "search party to work with."

Although Jack was not as cheered up as he could have been, he was still considerably happier knowing that at least Toothiana cared enough to come find him.

"Wow, Tooth, you didn't need to send _search parties_ after me," he said with a weak little chuckle. "I haven't even gone missing the full twenty-four hours yet."

She gave him a disapproving yet concerned look, one which reminded him of how a mother would look toward a child. He curled in on himself a bit more.

"You guys were doing just fine without me before. Probably _better. _Why does anyone care if I go missing?_"_

There came the soft weight of her hand on his shoulder, and when she pushed his hood back off his head he kept his gaze averted.

"Listen to me. You've been the only thing to stop Pitch from having his way _twice _now, you've saved us all, some of us more than once! How are we not better off than before?"

He was silent for a moment, but those words did only so much to soothe him.

"You don't understand," he shook his head, "Just... I mean, I didn't like what they were suggesting, not because I'm scared, but because I..." he hesitated, "I can't _hate_ like they do."

Toothiana backed away a little, and finally Jack looked up to see confusion and an unspoken question in her eyes, a question which he silently debated with himself whether or not he should truthfully answer. He stood up, facing away from her as he balanced effortlessly with one foot upon the pinnacle of the rooftop. He decided instead on a question of his own, a simple question which had been nagging at him all day since he'd left the North Pole.

"Can I ask you something, Tooth?"

"Of course."

"In the beginning, did Pitch or the Guardians strike first?"

Toothiana looked noticeably troubled. She was quiet for a moment, a distant look in her wild, vivid eyes. Obviously it was only the memories which plagued her.

"It was us," she said finally.

That answer honestly surprised him.

"Pitch doesn't care for human lives like we do, Jack," she explained, "After he let one of his believers, a _child,_ be killed, I wasn't going to refuse going along with what North and Sandman had planned against him."

She averted her gaze.

"We won only because we didn't give him time to prepare," Toothiana continued, "You understand we all fear him becoming that strong again. He was almost able to win with a _fraction_ of that power, if it wasn't for you he would have. It's our job to keep him from harming any more people, and we can't do that if we're gone."

The silence which followed was dreadfully calm, not even the cool, outside air held a breeze of any sort.

"...I get it, Tooth. Thank you."

His voice was quiet, delicate as the falling snow.

"What's wrong, Jack?" Toothiana gently prompted.

When he didn't respond, she continued talking.

"No one's mad at you, if you were wondering. Bunnymund was actually worried after you left; he didn't mean to chase you off like that."

Finally, her words calmed him somewhat.

"I don't want to fight anymore," he said this rather than admitting the whole truth, "I don't want anyone to suffer. Not even Pitch."

Toothiana came up beside him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder once more. The sad look on her face seemed sincere, and she was hovering a little lower than usual.

"We've all felt like that, which is why we did all we could for Pitch," she told him gently, "I was there the day North offered him Guardianship... but Pitch had been _very_ clear about his refusal. "

Jack looked up at her. That news shocked him. North had offered Pitch _Guardianship _once?

"Go to the North Pole as soon as you can, alright?" Toothiana suddenly insisted, cutting off his question before he could even ask it.

"I left my fairies to manage the tooth collection themselves and well," she chuckled nervously, "I haven't actually _done_ that before so I _really_ need to go check on them."

Jack gave an uncertain little nod.

"It was nice talking to you!" she told him, before soaring away at top speed.

"You! ... too..." he responded lamely.

Why did he have to go back to the North Pole? He took the snowglobe from his pocket and looked at it, immediately experiencing a twist of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. They'd likely decided on their plan, and stalling this visit was only going to delay the inevitable.


End file.
